“Secret hiding place? Here?” I smile. “Empty film canisters.”

“But they were tiny,” Margo argues.

“So were the earrings that I didn’t want either of you to borrow. What about you?”

My older sister’s eyes dart uneasily at my younger sister. She takes a tentative breath, murmurs, “Speaking of earrings,” and clears her throat. “There was a removable wood panel near the electrical outlet in the potting shed. I was watching when the outlet was installed. Remove the panel, and there’s a kind of shelf.”

We wait.

Finally, I ask, “What does that have to do with earrings?”

Brows lifting in apology, she looks at Anne. “Those pearl earrings of Mom’s that you wanted?”

“Mom lost them,” Anne says.

“Unless some rodent is wearing pearl earrings, they’re still on that shelf.”

Anne gasps. “You hid them so she couldn’t give them to me?”

“I wanted them myself.”

“I thought she didn’t want me to have them!” Pulling free of Joy’s arm, she backs away from us. “How could you do that, Margo? Didn’t you know what those earrings meant to me?”

“No—”

“Did you ever think of those earrings all these years? Did it never occur to you, especially after Mom died, that I might want them?”

“No!”

“Well, I would have. Even after all this time, I’d have liked to know she really did want me to have them, but you couldn’t be bothered. There you were living your sweet life in Chicago while I was back here taking care of Dad.” Her face is tight, her hands balled at her sides. “I’ve sacrificed, Margo. I’ve given up a bazillion other lives to take care of him. But you were too absorbed with yourself to chip in, because coming back here might interfere with your fancy-pantsy life. You left me all alone—just dumped everything on my shoulders—because you were too important to do things like dismantle your father’s office and pack up his life and take him to the dentist and … and buy him socks. You’re mean, Margo, mean.” Her voice is jagged. “Mean,” she shouts and makes for the door. “Selfish. Hateful.”

“Where are you going?” Margo cries as Anne flies through the mudroom.

“I want those earrings!”

Margo is out the screen door seconds after her. Exchanging a look of alarm, Joy and I follow. Though I understand what Anne is feeling, I don’t know what she might do. Tear the shed apart looking for loose boards? Throw pots? Grab a trowel and hit Margo? When we were kids, she used to pummel Margo with her little fists if Margo made her angry enough. We aren’t kids now, but there’s something about family being reunited in the family home that unearths long-buried resentments.